


Half an Hour Before Sunrise

by imkerfuffled



Series: 25 Days of Ficlet Prompts [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Dog Cops, F/M, Lucky tries his best but he doesn't have hands, Not technically comic-verse but i borrowed lucky and dog cops, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imkerfuffled/pseuds/imkerfuffled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the alien attack and Loki's brainwashing, Clint has to cope with the things he did while under Loki's control. He thinks binge watching Dog Cops will help. Spoiler alert: it won't</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half an Hour Before Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Dammit now I have an inexplicable urge to write Dog Cops fanfiction.

Clint thought that maybe if he stayed up until half an hour before sunrise streaming an entire season of Dog Cops it would help keep the nightmares at bay. 

It didn’t. 

It only made things worse. 

He didn’t need to think in order to watch a show that he’d already seen a dozen times, but Clint didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think about _anything,_ because thinking about _anything_ inevitably led to thinking about _that,_ and _that_ was something he never wanted to think about again. 

Unfortunately, Clint never was one for following orders, and orders that came from himself were no different. 

The instant his mind began to wander from the show (around when Sgt. Whiskers professed his love for Ms. Pawson) he was hit again with the inescapable, crushing guilt that he’d been trying so hard to run away from, ever since Lo—

No. 

Clint shot to his feet, dislodging Lucky from his side with a small “hruff.” He had to do something—move around, keep himself occupied—anything to stay distracted. Pacing restlessly around the apartment, he scooped up a dirty plate and a dishrag and planted himself in front of the sink, hoping busy work could keep him from thinking about—

Stop. 

Lucky padded after him with a quizzical expression. He had probably never seen the sink put to its proper use before. 

_Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think,_ was the mantra running through Clint’s head as he scraped the dishrag furiously across the plate. 

_Don’t think, don’t think, donthinkdonthinkdonthink._

The problem with thinking about not thinking was, of course, the very nature of the act. To think about not thinking about something, he had to think about the thing he wasn’t supposed to think about in order to not think about the thing he was not supposed to—

In the living room, Ms. Pawson revealed herself as a double agent for the evil Mr. Nibblesworth. 

“I didn’t do it,” Clint said to the plate in his trembling hands. It wasn’t a statement; it was a desperate plea. 

“It wasn’t me,” he said again, this time to the dog at his feet. “It was Loki.” 

Lucky cocked his ear. 

“I couldn’t do anything.” 

Lucky did not think Clint was saying anything regarding pizza. 

“I couldn’t do _anything,_ Lucky.” 

Without warning, Clink broke. He collapsed to the floor, still clutching the dishcloth with both hands like it was a lifeline in a roiling sea, and he was the sailor tossed overboard by the storm. He was sobbing, muttering over and over again with different inflections, “I couldn’t do anything.” 

Lucky nudged Clint’s arm with his wet, doggy nose and snuggled up underneath his hand, trying, in his own way, to help. Clint unclenched his fist from the rag to curl it in the dog’s fur, but Lucky could only do so much. For once, he didn’t think it would be enough. 

He was hyperventilating. Each breath came in a ragged gulp, and not enough. He couldn’t breathe, he needed air, he needed help—

 _I believe,_ he thought to himself, _you are having what those in the medical profession would call a ‘panic attack.’_

He was drowning. Drowning in his own sorrow, his own guilt. He couldn’t escape it, any of it. He couldn’t lie, he couldn’t pretend he was alright. He didn’t deserve to be alright, not when _they_ weren’t, when _they_ would _never_ be alright, because it was _his fault,_ all _his fault. He_ killed them, every last one of them, innocent people. _He_ killed the guards in Germany. _He_ killed the agents on the Helicarrier. _He_ stole the materials to build the portal, and _he_ led Loki’s men to S.H.I.E.L.D. If it weren’t for Cap, and Tony, and the Avengers, everyone would have died, and it was _his fault, all of it, he did it, oh god he killed them all. They were his friends and he killed them, every last one of them, everyone who died, it was all his fault._

He was going to die, suffocating in open air, drowning on dry land, there in a tight ball on the floor of his kitchen with his dog beside him, and even then he would be haunted. Even as a ghost he would be haunted by their dead eyes, and that blue glow telling him to kill them again, and why didn’t he just die that day, surely it would be better than this, this endless guilt. Why did he live when they died, when he killed them? 

_Red on your ledger,_ Loki’s voice whispered in his head. _Red on your ledger, red on your hands. How are you going to wipe that red off your ledger?_

_Oh god,_ he thought, _Is this how Tasha feels?_

As if summoned by his thoughts, he felt warm arms wrap around him, encompassing him in a calming embrace. He caught a flash of red hair in the corner of his obscured vision as a voice whispered in his ear, _“shh, shhhh, it’ll be alright.”_ And he clung to her, his real lifeline, not caring then how she got there or why. Later he suspected she broke into the apartment when she heard his crying, but in that moment all that mattered was that she was there. All that mattered was he was no longer alone with only his demons for company.


End file.
